Roll Baby Roll
by yuffiehighwind
Summary: Taking E was the best idea Dan O'Brien never had. Agents of Cracked fic. Dan/Michael.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary:** Taking E was the best idea Dan O'Brien never had._

_**Notes:** This is an Agents of Cracked fanfic. AoC was a webseries that ran on Cracked dotcom from 2009 to 2011. The series followed the lives of (__greatly exaggerated versions of) two _Cracked employees named Dan O'Brien and Michael Swaim. (Not to be confused with their real life counterparts. This isn't RPS.)

_This fic takes place after S3 E1 "Worst Wingman Ever," but before S3 E3 "Why a Co-Worker Threesome is a Bad Idea." It was inspired by "Worst Wingman Ever." The title is a lyric from the song Roadhouse Blues by The Doors, and is also the name of a song by Scooter. _

_I've never taken the drug Ecstasy before and this story plays a little loose with the science of it, like how long it takes to kick in, what it does to your body, and when you come down from the high._

___Special thanks to Lionessvalenti._

_**Warnings:** Non-consensual drug use, accidental drug use, dubious consent. Sexually explicit._

* * *

**Roll Baby Roll**

Dan trudged up the stairs to his apartment as if iron weights had been strapped to his feet. It was a cool October night - not too bad for Southern California, provided it wasn't raining, which of course it was. Cracked's office had its own parking garage, but Dan's apartment complex didn't. His usual space wasn't far, but the street had filled up with cars he'd never seen before. They probably belonged to patrons of a new bar nearby, ones with no concern for people like him who actually paid rent.

Dan's wet shoes squelched as he walked, having stepped in a puddle at least three inches deeper than he'd estimated, and a passing car sprayed him with gutter water as if he was Carrie freaking Bradshaw. At least he'd had the presence of mind to wear a jacket.

The rain had soured Dan's mood greatly, since he was exhausted already. Some days at Cracked felt agonizingly long, despite his relatively cushy position. Dan's second job as Michael Swaim's partner (read: babysitter) was draining, and he had his work for Cracked - many days Michael's as well - piled on top of that. Sometimes it was a relief to bid Michael goodnight and linger in the office for a few hours to focus on his writing.

Sure he'd prefer to be at home, or at the movies, or on a date with an actual person and not just his friends Ben and Jerry. (The self pity had reached critical dessert levels.) But getting to do what he had actually applied for two years earlier could be just as satisfying. Dan was still young, wasn't he? He could always work now and party later. Michael would certainly force him to.

Tonight he looked forward to collapsing on the couch and watching TV. He was supposed to be an expert, but keeping Michael out of trouble left little time for it. Dan turned the corner, smiling to himself. He was almost there, his apartment just down the hall. His complex was a fairly quiet one, and he felt lucky to have snagged an apartment there in a city that never slept.

Dan felt the music before he heard it.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!"

He whispered the first "no," but each repetition grew progressively louder and insistent as Dan approached. He should have seen something like this coming.

Dan took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob, but a young man and woman emerged first, laughing to themselves. Two goths, both pale with dyed black hair and thick eyeliner. The woman wore a tight black skirt with a sleeveless top and red choker, and had a high, messy ponytail that reminded him of Lydia Deetz. The man was more Billie Joe Armstrong than Robert Smith, in a pleather jacket over dark jeans. Dan cringed when his pierced tongue flicked out to lick the woman's lips.

They kissed in the open doorway while Dan peered over their shoulder. The apartment was packed wall to wall with people and the music was deafening. It was techno or trance, not that he could tell the difference. Dan couldn't stand techno; he was a soft rock kind of guy. He was grateful it wasn't dubstep.

"Oops," said the woman, with a sheepish smile that looked alien on a goth. "You going in?"

"Um, yeah," Dan replied, forcing a neutral expression to cover his rage. "Excuse me."

The couple stepped aside to let him pass. The door shut behind him, and he squeezed through a surging mass of bodies in search of the only man that could be responsible. This would be a violation any day of the week, but for God's sake, it was a _Tuesday_ and Dan had to get up early in the morning. All he had wanted was one night to himself. Just one.

Claustrophobic and chaotic, it encapsulated everything about parties Dan hated most. It was impossible to navigate the crowd without touching someone or someone touching him. Too dark to read lips and too loud to hear himself think, the room was hot and airless, which would explain the guests' varying states of undress. Dan's instinct was to bolt for the door, but anger won out over his anxiety. Michael would pay for this.

While he searched, Dan observed the guests. He spotted more goths skulking in the corner looking bored, and because no party was complete without them, there were also the hipsters, the bros, stoners, and punks. Not to mention three furries (a dog and two cats) and a very confused Juggalo. None of these groups, however - not even the furries - drew Dan's eye like the Kandi Kids.

Cracked had done an article on the quintessential ravers, portraying them as cheerful airheads adorned in rainbow beads and neon clothes that could only be taken seriously in dim lighting. The piece was entirely accurate; Dan's living room was now packed with fashion-challenged dancers rubbing up against one another. Some of the dancers twirled glow sticks that left blurred arcs of multicolored light and Dan ducked to avoid being hit with one. Someone had installed strobe lights on the ceiling - an epileptic's nightmare, blinding and disorienting.

The DJ had brought two massive speakers, and Dan could only imagine what the neighbors thought of the noise. Michael would feign listening to them, agreeing to turn it down with a friendly smile, only to crank it up higher out of spite or his notoriously bad memory. Dan pictured his furious landlord calling the cops. Yes, a noise complaint would be filed any minute, so he didn't have much time. Dan pushed his way to the source of the music, pausing to yell at guests touching his things.

"Stop, stop, that's not an ashtray, that's my grandmother's vase! You, be careful, that camera was $400! That Spiderman figurine is a collectible, not a toy!" Someone doubled over on the couch, puking on the throw pillows. "Come on, man, I just bought those."

Finally, Dan reached the DJ.

"Can you turn down the music?"

The DJ lifted his headphones and asked, "What?"

"Can you turn it down? My neighbors— "

"I'm not taking requests 'til later."

"I don't have—Look, do you know where I can find Michael?"

"Who?"

"The host of this party?"

"Huh?"

"Forget it. Your music sucks, by the way."

The DJ smiled and gave a thumbs up. "Thanks."

Dan hated using the word "host" - (it was _his _home!) - but wasn't sure how else the guests would know Michael. When he only received blank stares, he elaborated, "Swaim. Michael Swaim. Tall, skinny white guy? Red sunglasses, manic expression?"

The guests he cornered shook their heads, either unable to hear him or having no clue. It shouldn't have been so hard to find someone in such a small apartment, especially someone as conspicuous as Michael.

"Daniel, you came!"

Out of nowhere, Michael embraced Dan in a fierce bear hug.

"Yes, I did, because I live here."

"Oh, yeah," Michael said, as if realizing this for the first time. Michael let go, allowing Dan to turn around and get a good look at him.

Michael's fashion sense could be called anything from "eccentric" to "nonexistent," and tonight was no exception. The only difference now was he blended in with the crowd. The outfit was typical Michael, beginning with an orange plastic visor and his trademark red sunglasses. He wore dark cotton pants that grew increasingly wider down the legs until they engulfed his feet (it was a wonder he didn't trip over them) crisscrossed with bands of neon green reflective tape. Michael had covered his arms in a variety of beaded bracelets, almost up to his armpits, and had hung a necklace with a pacifier on the end around his neck. The most ludicrous article of clothing was his shirt, a pink women's top with Cheer Bear and Tenderheart on roller skates over the text "Rollin' with my Homie."

"What the fuck is going on, Mike? Who are all these people? Why the hell are you having a party in _my_ apartment?"

"I've actually been planning this party for weeks! I've been practicing my moves and everything."

Michael demonstrated his "moves" with a pair of glow sticks, accidentally smacking someone next to them upside the head. He didn't apologize.

"The invitations were all sent out, food ordered, booze stocked, DJ hired, hookers reserved. There was just one _slight_snag."

"What kind of 'snag?' What happened to your house?"

"Griselda and I had a fight over the last Klondike bar, so she changed all the locks. I've been crashing at Crazy Raoul's house, but that guy is fuckin' weird. I mean, I like him a lot; he sells quality shit. Those dead wives of his, though? I think one of 'em's haunting the place. And there are always junkies sleeping on the porch we gotta chase off with his dad's old golf clubs - _also_ haunted! By his uncle, not his dad. His dad's still alive." Michael sighed and shook his head. "It's just not my kinda scene."

Dan listened incredulously, trying to recall who Michael was talking about. A woman named Griselda? A drug dealer called Crazy Raoul? After some thought, Dan remembered Michael's disastrous dinner party. He'd been knocked out with spray paint almost immediately, while Michael and his friends had sex with his date. (Who then stole Dan's car.) There hadn't even been any food. Griselda, Michael's homeless "wife," had the right idea evicting him. (Could she still be considered homeless now she was a homeowner?)

"Right. All of that...happened. So you broke into my apartment and turned it into a _rave?_"

"Hell yeah!" Michael said. "I think it's an improvement. What were you gonna do? Read the New Yorker and go to bed?"

"Something like that. So I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything, buddy."

Dan leaned closer, both so Michael could hear him more clearly and to emphasize how serious this was.

"Get these people out of my apartment. _Now._ Please, before I do something I regret."

Dan narrowed his eyes at Michael and the veiled threat slowly dawned on his partner. Michael's brow furrowed, and after a moment he seemed to come to a decision. It was difficult to tell in the darkened room.

Michael broke into a wide smile and said, "How 'bout a drink instead? Just one to calm you down. You seem really tense and I know it's partly my fault—"

_"Partly?"_

"—so I think a drink will help you relax."

It had been a lousy day turned even worse night, but that was Dan's life now. It was life with Michael, whose actions were so infuriating Dan had turned into a day drinker.

"Fine. _One_ drink, then I'm kicking everybody out."

The two men shouldered their way to the kitchen, and Michael shoved aside an amorous couple blocking the refrigerator. Dan set his messenger bag on the counter, then thought better of it and returned it to his shoulder. Parties like this drew thieves, and Dan pictured his valuables being pocketed, the apartment picked clean by morning. The thought was too taxing to fret over now. His blood pressure was high enough as it was.

When he turned around, Michael handed him a beer. Michael held his own out for a toast - possibly to the invasion of Dan's home - but Dan was already chugging his. It tasted like Blue Moon, because Dan had bought it himself last week. Now a crowd of freeloading deviants was drinking all his alcohol.

After downing half the bottle in one go, Dan sighed and said, "You're right, I needed that." Michael smiled and patted him on the shoulder. His hand lingered there some time longer than appropriate, but Dan didn't think much of it, taking another pull of his drink. Michael peered at him closely while lightly rubbing his upper back.

Something wasn't right. Michael was smirking at him and Dan couldn't remember opening his beer. He scowled at his drink, then slowly placed it down on the counter. Keeping his voice calm and level, Dan said, "Michael?"

"Yeah, Dan?"

"This beer was already open."

It was the polite thing to do, opening your friend's drink for him, so it had been second nature to take it. But Dan didn't _trust_ Michael. Sometimes he forgot you really couldn't, if you wanted to survive.

"Did you...Did you just roofie me?"

Michael said, "Gasp!" and removed his hand, looking scandalized. "Of course not! And frankly, I'm offended. What kind of man drugs his best friend?"

"_You! _Because you've done it before! Twice with paint - in a single day, I might add, which I'm sure caused irreparable brain damage - and a bunch of times with actual Rohypnol..."

Michael shook his head, smiling in a way he possibly thought was comforting.

"That's all in the past, buddy! You got nothin' to worry about."

He wanted to believe him, he really did, and Michael's expression looked so innocent Dan almost felt like he could this time.

"Good," Dan said curtly. "Thank you."

"I only spiked it with Ecstasy."

Michael stepped aside to let a girl access the fridge. She grabbed two bottles of Coke and left, squeezing past Dan, who dumbly stared at Michael as though he hadn't heard him. Which he had; he just wished he hadn't.

"What?"

"MDMA? Molly? Disco Biscuits? Dancing Shoes?"

Dan clenched his fists and shouted, "I know what Ecstasy is, Michael!"

Unperturbed by Dan's outburst, Michael said, "Raoul and I got the pure stuff off a twink at Fubar, so you should be rolling in about..." Michael looked at his wrist, at a watch that wasn't there among the twenty beaded bracelets. "...fifteen minutes."

Knowledge imparted, Michael took his first sip of beer. He made a disgusted face and spit it back into the bottle. Dan's head spun with possibilities.

"Shit, shit, shit! I've never taken E in my life, and there are so many risks! Convulsions, heart palpitations, hemorrhaging, hypothermia, _renal failure_..."

"Paranoia," Michael added, slinging an arm around Dan's shoulders. "Relax, Daniel. One pill isn't going to kill you. I took like ten of them."

"Of course you did."

"I'll be right beside you the whole time."

"See, you say that _now_, but as soon as you get distracted by— "

Dan felt Michael withdraw his arm, so he looked up. Michael was already gone.

* * *

_**References Rundown**_  
_*Carrie Bradshaw is a character from the TV series Sex in the City, Lydia Deetz is a character from the movie Beetlejuice, Billie Joe Armstrong is the front man for the band Green Day, and Robert Smith fronts the band The Cure._  
_*There really is a brief, bitter article on Cracked about kandi kids._  
_*Furries are people interested in fictional anthropomorphic animal characters. They often dress in costumes called "fursuits."_  
_*Juggalos are fans of the band Insane Clown Posse. Many wear black and white clown make-up._  
_*Cheer Bear and Tenderheart are characters from the animated series Care Bears._  
_*Griselda and Crazy Raoul (and Michael's dinner party) are from S2 E8 "Bad Idea: Hanging With Work Friends Outside the Office."_  
_*Fubar is a popular gay bar in West Hollywood._


	2. Chapter 2

Dan took out his phone and debated whether or not to call the cops. On one hand, he wanted all these people gone and Michael charged with trespassing. On the other, Dan could be arrested as well. It was his apartment and his responsibility, and now thanks to Michael he'd also test positive for drugs. Dan shoved the phone back in his pocket and headed for the bedroom. Hopefully it was empty and he would have time alone to think.

In the hallway, Dan felt someone take his left hand and slip something around his wrist. Startled, he looked behind him. A young woman, probably in her early twenties, was smiling at him.

"Here, have some kandi."

She had given Dan a beaded bracelet, and held up a second one for his other arm. The girl was Asian, with bright purple pigtails, glasses, and a Daft Punk t-shirt. Besides her taste in jewelry (no shortage of kandi), she seemed pretty ordinary. But that could have been the glasses. Dan had a thing for cute girls in glasses.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Um, Daniel. What's yours?"

"Phoenix."

"Oh, like the mythical bird?" This was the kind of geeky reference Dan loved, and it only made her more attractive. The phoenix was a creature that could resurrect itself, giving itself a second chance, and that was all Dan wanted these days.

"Yeah," the girl replied. "I just moved to LA and that seemed the best name for a fresh start." She adjusted her glasses. "Wanna dance?"

A cute girl was asking _him_ to dance! Dan wished for an opportunity like this every day, and it would be stupid not to take it. But the smile and the hand-holding didn't negate his desire to make the ravers leave.

"Well, I kinda have to…have to…"

Dan trailed off, suddenly feeling...drunk. It wasn't quite the same as a buzz or like other drugs he'd taken. He didn't feel dizzy, or lightheaded, or like he might pass out. It was a tingling sensation that began in his stomach and crept outward, and the most similar feeling was the pride he felt when people liked his articles. The pleasure only intensified, rushing to his brain like the post-orgasmic bliss that, in reality, only lasted a fleeting ten seconds before giving way to existential crisis. Instead it remained constant, like everything was love and nothing could hurt him.

"Whoah."

"You okay?"

When it seemed like Dan might topple over, Phoenix gripped his arm to hold him up.

"I think it's...I think it just kicked in. It feels like…."

Phoenix grinned. "Heaven?" The girl removed one of her necklaces and placed it around Dan's neck.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Phoenix giggled, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small bag of pills. She opened it and placed one on her tongue. The girl swallowed it dry, then held one up to Dan's mouth for him to take. For a second he considered it, then shook his head. The girl shrugged and put it away.

"Come on, let's go."

The girl took Dan's hand and led him to the dance floor.

* * *

Dan could hear color and see sound. It was like discovering music for the first time, and only now could he comprehend how exhilarating the sound of a beating drum (in this case synthesizer) really was, compelling his head to bob and feet to tap.

Phoenix's fingers remained interlaced with his, to keep them linked and Dan grounded as they were swallowed by the crowd. Now he didn't mind the accidental contact as much. It was hot, but no longer repulsive. Dan divested himself of most of his clothes - everything but an undershirt and slacks - bundling them up and shoving them behind the couch.

Many ravers danced by themselves, some weaving intricate patterns with glow sticks. Others thrust their hands in the air to the beat. Dan spent much of his time sandwiched between Phoenix and another man. The stranger wrapped his arms around Dan and synced their hips with the rhythm while Phoenix twirled around nearby, giggling to herself. Each song blended into the next, so it was difficult to tell how much time passed. It didn't matter to them if it was ten at night or ten in the morning, but after a while Dan grew thirsty.

"I'm gonna go get something to drink," he shouted to his new friends over the din. "Want a couple bottles of water?" The pair nodded languidly and continued swaying to the music. "I'll take that as a yes. Be right back."

Dan squeezed through the crowd to the kitchen. He gulped an entire glass of tap water before remembering the bottles. Opening the fridge revealed someone had restocked it with everything from beer to soda to malt liquor. What food he'd had was missing, however, and Dan arched an eyebrow at the mohawked girl sitting cross-legged on the counter eating his frozen yogurt. He shrugged, grabbed two waters, and turned to leave.

Before heading back, Dan stopped to use the bathroom, accidentally walking in on a man in a canine fursuit "yiffing" a woman wearing a Guy Fawkes mask while somebody else snorted Adderall off the sink. It took him a minute to process the strangeness of it, and took longer to register shock. (Long enough to pee and leave.) _Of course_ people were having sex in his bathroom. Why wouldn't they be?

"Carry on," Dan said cheerfully, flushing the toilet.

He returned to find his new friends nestled in a pile of people on the couch. Laughing, they grabbed each of Dan's arms and pulled him in. A "cuddle puddle," Phoenix called it. To his surprise, there was nothing sexual about it. Dan just felt safe, loved, and finally welcome to Los Angeles.

Sometime later, Dan opened his eyes and Phoenix was gone. Looking around, he spotted her with the DJ, their faces close to better hear each other. He watched her smile and adjust her glasses, and from this angle it looked like the DJ was kissing her neck. There wasn't much point in interrupting them. She wasn't his girlfriend, and it was disappointing but didn't...hurt_._ _Nothing_ hurt, not really. It was like Dan had ingested hope.

* * *

_**References Rundown**_  
_*Daft Punk is a French electronic music duo. They've been around a long time, but you probably know them for the singles "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" and "Get Lucky."_  
_*Phoenix, the girl with the purple pigtails, is partly based on a classmate of mine in college._  
_*The phoenix is a bird from Greek mythology that burns up when it dies, but arises from the ashes to be born again._  
_*The line about orgasms being blissful until you have an existential crisis is from comedian Russell Brand's stand-up._  
_*Furries call sex "yiffing," after the sound a fox makes when mating._  
_*Guy Fawkes masks are stylized depictions of the historical figure, taken from the film V for Vendetta. They're typically worn by members of the online group Anonymous._


	3. Chapter 3

Dan wandered in the direction of his bedroom. Not to sleep - he was still too wired - but to log online and check his email, maybe make that phone call he'd forgotten. Who was he going to call again? Oh, right. The police.

Just outside the bathroom, Dan bumped into Michael, literally. He staggered back with an "oof!" and was about to apologize when he looked up and grinned.

"Michael!"

"Hey, Dan."

Michael's hair stuck up in every direction, like someone had run their hands through it but never bothered to comb it back. He was missing the visor and sunglasses, and was in the middle of buckling his belt.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dan asked.

"Oh, you know," Michael said. "Around."

"I missed you!"

Like flicking a switch, Michael's smile brightened tenfold.

"Aww, you did? I missed you too."

He laughed when Dan thrust his arms around him and squeezed. Because it had been at the back of his mind all night, Dan asked, "Why'd you run off so soon earlier?"

"That was...You see, I had to..."

Michael trailed off, struggling to find a good answer. Dan withdrew his arms and stepped back.

"You don't remember, do you?"

"Yes. No. I'll remember eventually."

"You won't."

Michael changed the subject. "How are you liking the party?"

Dan couldn't lie.

"It's awesome! The music's great, everybody's _so_ nice..."

Suddenly, someone next to them spilled wine on another guest's shirt. "You _fucking_ asshole!" the man growled. A fight broke out, so Michael took Dan by the arm and pulled him away from the melee.

"I'm having a blast," Dan continued, despite the violent interruption. "It's just that...I kinda need a break for a minute. And my hearing back."

"Let's go to your room," Michael said. "It'll be quieter in there."

Michael turned the knob to a door on their left. There wasn't much inside but some towels, linens, and cleaning supplies.

"This is a pretty small room you got. Where do you sleep?"

"Down the hall, idiot."

"Excuse you, what happened to peace and love?"

"Come on," Dan said, and Michael followed.

* * *

Michael was right. It was much quieter in the bedroom, discounting the grunts of the couple having sex on Dan's bed.

"Okay, the furries in my bathroom I could handle, but _this?_ Michael, do something!"

His mouth hanging open, Michael watched the show with glassy eyes. Dan snapped his fingers in his face.

"Huh?" He looked at Dan. "Furries? Where was I for that?"

"How should I know? Get these people out of my room!"

"Bossy, bossy." Michael picked up a thick book from Dan's desk and smacked the man on top with it, right on the ass.

"OW! What the fuck, dude?"

"Time's up. Everybody out."

"We weren't done!"

"Too bad. I'm gonna start charging admission if you don't quit it."

"How much?" the man's girlfriend asked.

"A hundred dollars a lay."

"You're not charging admission for the use of my bed, Michael," Dan said.

"Shh! I'm negotiating."

"Fuck that!" said the man.

"It's two hundred now, but I hear the bathroom's free."

Grumbling, the couple threw their clothes back on. Michael brandished the book until they were gone, then chucked it on the floor.

"Kids these days," Michael said, shaking his head.

"We're the same age."

"Are we, though?" Michael mused, shutting the door.

Dan was about to say "of course we are," then thought better of it. Instead he commented on the large number of coats and purses piled on his bed and the floor around it.

"What the hell happened here?"

"Obviously this is the coat room. And sex happened. You were here for that."

"I'm just gonna check my email."

Dan sat down and opened his laptop. It didn't light up immediately though he'd left it on standby. Dan jiggled the mouse but the screen remained black. He pressed the power button and nothing happened.

"If my computer's broken, I blame you," Dan said, checking to see if it was still plugged in.

"Don't think about it," Michael said, leaning over Dan's shoulder, "as much as I would love to look at porn. Or puppies. Or puppy porn, now you've got me thinking about furries." He reached down and closed the lid. "Let's just talk, or something. What do people talk about?"

"What do regular people talk about, or people like you?"

Michael had many different smiles. Psychotic, manic, desperate, bemused, cheerful, fake, transparently fake, the kind he had when he thought something he'd done was hilarious, the kind he had when something horrible happened he thought was hilarious, charming (or so Dan was told), and affectionate. When Dan turned around, Michael was giving him the last one.

"Are you saying I'm special?"

Sarcasm seemed to have gone over his head again.

"Something like that," Dan said.

Michael lay on the bed and patted the space beside him. Dan hesitated, not sure he wanted to lie where two strangers had just been fucking.

On the other hand, it looked pretty comfy. Dan kicked off his sneakers and snuggled between a women's Northface jacket and a fur lined anorak. Why someone had dressed for snow during a California autumn was a mystery.

"This is nice," Michael said, which was a distinctly un-Michael thing to say under the circumstances. Unless Michael was referring to lacing the office water bubbler with LSD, or roasting marshmallows at a house fire, or dangling Dan from the roof of the Aon Center as some kind of demented bonding exercise. (Only one of those things had happened. So far.)

Michael looped an arm around Dan's waist and pulled him closer. He ran his fingertips up and down Dan's forearm, and if Dan were cuddling with anyone else- like his companions from the couch - he could easily drift to sleep. But Michael was unpredictable, unstable, and untrustworthy. Anything could happen.

"Told ya I'd help you relax."

"Yeah, you did. Thanks, man."

Michael doing something right was rare. Dan could count the times Michael was anything but a thorn in his side on one hand. Now he waited for the other shoe to drop.

What happened next wasn't bad, per se, but Dan was still jolted alert when he felt Michael's lips on his neck.

"Whoah!" he said, eyes shooting open. "Hey, uh, Mike?"

"Mmm, you smell like disco fries," Michael said, reaching up Dan's shirt. "I like it."

"Mike, what are you doing?"

"Does it matter if it feels good?"

Michael splayed his fingers over Dan's abdomen and hooked one of his legs around him. He pressed more feverish kisses to Dan's throat, and the sensation sent shivers down Dan's spine. Any and all rationality was quickly abandoning his brain for parts south.

"But—but we're coworkers," he stammered, "and I'm straight."

It was no secret Michael was bisexual. (He had never stated it outright, but the time he went home with _all the patrons of_ _an entire bar_ clinched it.) Dan, however, wasn't. He reasoned that the encounter with his clone didn't count, since it was practically masturbation. (It was worth pointing out that Michael was also attracted to most inanimate objects and some animals, so what did _that _make him? Was there even a word for it?)

Michael's hand wandered lower and Dan thought, _My God, he's really going for it._

"Michael, stop."

Michael pressed his palm against Dan's growing erection, making him blush and curse his body's reaction. This was _Michael_, for Christ's sake! An idiotic, drug-addicted psychopath shouldn't be making him hard.

Before he knew it, Michael was straddling Dan's legs and unbuckling his belt. Things had officially gotten out of hand. (Like the hand unbuttoning Dan's fly and pulling down the zipper.)

"Michael—"

Michael massaged Dan's hard-on through his boxers, evoking a soft moan.

"You ever had a blow job on E, Daniel?"

"I already told you, I've never been on E before."

"Well, some guys can't get hard, but clearly that's not a problem."

Michael grinned. The E had no effect on Dan's erection, but he dearly wished it did, just so Michael would stop looking so smug. Michael pulled down Dan's boxers so he could wrap his long, thin fingers around his cock. Dan closed his eyes.

"And most guys can't come, even though the sex is mind-blowing," Michael continued, pulling Dan's khakis down further. "Even though each squeeze sends electrifying bolts of pleasure along every nerve ending, the feeling of skin against skin increased exponentially." Dan bit back a groan. "Even when they're so close they can taste their own semen."

"Uh-huh," Dan said, only half listening. The hot fist around his cock picked up speed.

"But then again," Michael said, "those guys weren't blown by yours truly."

Dan opened his eyes. "What?"

"I've had a lot of practice." Michael stopped stroking so he could scoot back and kneel between Dan's legs.

"This can't be happening," Dan said, staring at the ceiling and wondering when he was going to wake up.

"Oh, it's happening," Michael replied, bending down. This was _insane_. Michael Swaim was breathing centimeters from his cock about to...

"I can't believe this is—Jesus fuuuck..."

Dan's protestations died on his lips at the first touch of Michael's tongue. Michael didn't immediately envelop Dan in his mouth, he began by swirling his tongue around the tip. He sucked on the head of Dan's cock for a while, keeping one hand wrapped around the shaft with the other resting on Dan's thigh. Michael had been right about the Ecstasy; it amplified every sensation. The drug more than lived up to its name.

Being quiet became more difficult when Michael took in all of him, almost to the base. Dan wasn't sure which was more likely, that his partner was truly the master of oral sex, or the drug made a mediocre blow job feel fantastic. It worked out for Dan either way, but part of him hoped Michael was not actually this good in bed. It was bad enough he was a better columnist.

Michael continued for what felt like hours - base to tip and back again, taking in more of Dan's cock each time. He wondered how Michael didn't gag. Out of curiosity, Dan had tried it once with a banana and choked. How did people do it? Michael said he'd had a lot of practice.

Michael quickened his pace, tightening his grip to jerk Dan's cock while he sucked. His other hand caressed Dan's inner thigh, and while it wasn't nearly as good as the other things Michael was doing, the lightest touch anywhere felt amazing. _This incredible drug_, Dan thought. _Would I still be lying here without it?_ The next thing Michael did pushed aside any remaining doubt.

The hand on Dan's leg slid down to his balls, cupping and massaging them before heading further south to his taint. The triple stimulation was enough to make Dan forget only a thin door stood between them and fifty strangers. He moaned brokenly and reached out for Michael. Dan wanted to touch him too, to dig his nails into those bony shoulders and rake his fingers through that messy hair. He didn't push on Michael's head; there was no going deeper down his throat. Dan only wanted to participate, not just provide a soundtrack of embarrassing noises.

Michael didn't seem to mind, not stopping until Dan bucked his hips. _"Michael,"_ he moaned, and it felt _right_ saying it, so he repeated it more loudly. Michael gripped Dan's hips with both hands to hold his body still. He returned to only sucking on the tip, tonguing the underside of Dan's cock like he had at the beginning. Dan murmured a litany of his partner's name, which he had said so many times over the past two years in anger and frustration. He said it in exasperation and rarely with affection; more often in annoyance than as an address. Dan tolerated Michael like a disobedient pet. One that was dangerous - at times truly terrifying - when he wasn't just being a selfish prick. But now Dan was grateful he had thrown this party and taken Dan into his bed.

Technically, it was Dan's bed.

"Your mouth feels _so fucking good."_

Did he really sound like that? The rasping voice was barely recognizable.

Michael stopped and kissed Dan's thigh. He lifted Dan's shirt to press another kiss to his stomach, then one to his chest, flicking his tongue over each nipple. Michael lay above him now, propped up on his elbows gazing down at Dan with lust.

Their faces were so close Dan could feel puffs of Michael's hot breath on his cheek. He swallowed thickly, nervous in a way he wasn't when they started. Michael's lips were so near, it would be easy to close the distance and...

Dan shut his eyes, puckered his lips, and leaned forward. But Michael's mouth was already gone, sucking on Dan's shoulder. The pang of disappointment subsided and Dan chided himself for his foolishness._You're so stupid. It's just sex._

Any thought of kissing vanished when he felt Michael bite down on his neck, hard enough to create what was sure to be a nasty bruise. Was Michael _marking_ him? No, it was just something lovers did, not that Dan would put it past him.

Dan winced at the pain and prayed the hickey wouldn't be visible in the morning. Michael sat up, looking pleased with himself. He reached down to take Dan's cock in hand and leisurely jerk it.

"Hmm, I wonder if you're cute when you come, or if you just embarrass yourself."

"Can you not say that kind of stuff out loud right now?"

"If you look cute I don't want to miss it, but if you look like a retard, I'd rather be down there."

Michael may have been a skilled lover - (granted, he was one of Dan's very, _very_ few lovers, so Dan didn't have much frame of reference) - but he was as sensitive as a rock_._

Dan had no witty retort ready, so Michael continued, "I like watching people's faces when they come, because they're just so _honest._"

"Said the compulsive liar," Dan muttered.

Michael ignored him, saying, "At that moment? You can see into their _soul."_

Dan rolled his eyes. "Somehow I doubt that."

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. Michael called over his shoulder, "Occupied!" Turning to Dan he said, "Jeez, nobody knows Sex Room etiquette these days."

"This isn't the 'Sex Room,' it's my bedroom. And people seem to think it's the coat room."

"Since there's a line now, you want it fast or slow?"

One knock didn't mean there was a line. Even if there _were_ a line, Michael Swaim being considerate of strangers was even crazier than Michael Swaim giving Dan blow jobs. Perhaps it was the Ecstasy, a drug that flooded the senses with affection and good will. And while Dan would prefer not to rush, he also wanted to come really, really badly.

"I don't care," Dan said, thrusting into the hand still wrapped around his cock.

"Fast it is."

Whatever Michael was doing before, the pleasure had been only a fraction of what Dan felt now. His technique was essentially the same - swallowing Dan's cock while working him over with both hands - but Dan was so overwhelmed he couldn't be sure.

_"Ohh God, oh God, oh God...oh fuck...Michael..."_

Dan's eyes were squeezed shut, but he could hear the party's volume increase, the music and voices no longer muffled, almost as if...

Someone had opened the door.

Michael was someone who would fuck stark naked in broad daylight in a city park, but Dan was shy just _masturbating._ Being watched having sex was more embarrassing than being watched taking a dump, because at least doing_ that _there was no pressure to look attractive.

Then again, this was a crazy party, right? Everyone was drunk or high, and none of Michael's guests were judgmental types. As the door mercifully closed, Dan heard someone murmur a question. A louder, female voice replied, with some amusement, "Mike's in there going down on some guy."

_Mandy Manderson!_

Mandy, the object of Dan's affection for two years. Beautiful, cruel Mandy, who had sex with Michael behind his back - more than once! Mandy, who Dan had to see every day after their break-up and still secretly pined for. And she hadn't even _recognized_ him! Dan wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted.

Even as his body rocketed towards orgasm, Dan found himself fretting over Mandy Manderson. It would be understandable thinking of her when he came, but it was a shame. Because Michael's grin, as much as Dan wanted to punch it off him most days, was sexy enough to _get _him there.

Dan looked down at his partner. This was someone who had dragged _him_ into bed, not rejected him at every turn. Being wanted by someone was gratifying on its own, even without the blow job. Even if he didn't come.

Okay, that last part was a lie. Dan would normally have climaxed five times over by now, but couldn't, making him frustrated and a tiny bit paranoid. What if this drug changed his body chemistry so much he'd never have an orgasm again? Was that possible? And if he _did _have one, what if it was so good it ruined sober sex forever?

Dan's fears evaporated when Michael did something to make him come so hard he thought he was going to_ die_. He couldn't begin to describe how it felt, not knowing what to compare it to, and he was supposed to be a writer. It wasn't electric so much as tidal, pleasure crashing over him in waves. He was drowning in it, gasping for breath.

When it was over, Dan felt more relaxed than he had ever been_._ Why did he care what Mandy thought? Or Sarge, or the Chief? Or his readers?

Why did he hate Michael so much?

Michael sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He made a face and said, "Your spunk tastes like Miracle Whip. You might want to get that checked."

"I love you."

The words rolled off Dan's tongue and were out before he could stop them. Maybe it was the drugs, or the orgasm, or real feelings he had buried. Whatever the reason, at that moment Dan O'Brien loved Michael Swaim.

"I love you so much," he repeated, sitting up. He cupped Michael's face with his hand, and Michael's lip quirked up in amusement.

"Are we having a moment?" He didn't sound sarcastic, but still didn't sound like he took Dan seriously.

Dan placed his hands on Michael's shoulders and pressed their foreheads together. Michael didn't pull away, but didn't take the hint either. Throat dry and stomach full of butterflies, Dan was too nervous to kiss him first. Making the first move in _any_ situation was terrifying, and Dan was a born coward. Even this intoxicated hookup had been someone else's idea. He would let Michael decide whatever happened next.

"Uh, do you..." Dan cleared his throat. "Do you want me to do you too?"

Michael smiled. Dan smiled back.

"Nah, I'm good. I had sex with Mandy in the bathroom half an hour ago."

Dan's smile fell. He pulled away, disappointed and hurt. To make matters worse, Mandy opened the door, as if she'd been listening for her name. _Had_ she been listening?

_Oh God, she's been standing in the hall waiting for us to finish!_

"Ready for round two?" she asked Michael.

"You bet I am!" he said. Michael sprung out of bed and had his arms around her in seconds. Dan wanted to say something - anything - to make him stay, but was dumbstruck. Michael followed her out, saying, "See ya later, Dan."

The pair left the door wide open, and Dan was still too shocked to remember his dick was hanging out until people in the hall started snickering. He pulled up his khakis and, instead of chasing after the people he loved to stop them from screwing each other, glowered at the wall feeling sorry for himself.

Someone knocked on the open door and Dan looked up; it was Raoul. "Is Michael in here?" he asked, despite clear evidence to the contrary.

"No, he...He went to the bathroom. Why?"

"He told me to let him know when the pizzas got here," Raoul said. "The delivery guy is looking for money and I don't know what to tell him."

"Just pool everybody's cash and give him that."

"Michael told everyone it was free. He said he'd pay with credit."

"But Michael doesn't have a..." _That son of a bitch._ Michael hadn't intended to pay for the food at all. "I see," he said. Dan reached into his pocket for his wallet. It wasn't there, so he fished around under the coats and blankets. Dan found it lying on the floor and thanked God it hadn't been stolen. He took out his credit card, saying, "Give him this, then bring it right back. Oh, and Raoul, have you got anything that would help me sleep?"

"I've got just the thing. And thank you, uh..." Raoul gave him a blank look.

"Dan," he replied with a weary sigh. "My name is _Dan_."

* * *

_**References Rundown**_  
_*The Aon Center is the second tallest skyscraper in Los Angeles, and 31st tallest building in the United States._  
_*Michael went home with all the patrons of an entire bar in S3 E1, "Worst Wingman Ever."_  
_*Dan hooked up with his clone in S2 E3, "Molotov Shock-Tale."_  
_*The line about seeing into someone's soul when they orgasm is from S2 E10 of the TV series The League, "Vinegar Strokes."_  
_*Mandy Manderson was the coworker Dan crushed on in Season 1 and dated in Season 2. She constantly forgot this fact. Mandy ended up with Sarge at the end of the Christmas special._


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Dan woke to sunlight streaming on his face. He opened his eyes and immediately buried his face in his pillow. Dan lay on his stomach, still fully dressed. Rolling over, he took stock of his surroundings. Nothing was out of the ordinary except the open window. Dan sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His shoe bumped against something metallic, so he looked down. It was an empty beer can. Looking around, he saw _more_ empty beer cans, a plastic cup full of cigarette butts, two discarded bags of Doritos, a plate of pizza crusts, a pacifier, and a rainbow beaded necklace. (It was only a preview of what he would find once he stumbled into the living room.)

Dan put his glasses on and peered at the clock. It was 11:28. He was supposed to be at Cracked's office by nine and routinely arrived at 8:30. He was three hours late, and this would _not_ fly with the Sarge.

_Fuck._

No shower or breakfast today; Dan would go straight to work before Sarge realized he was missing. First he badly needed to pee. Dan got up and headed for the bathroom, encountering more detritus in the hall. He entered the living room, and was horrified to find his apartment completely trashed.

The discarded bottles and cups he could understand, along with the plates of food and cigarette butts. (Even the meticulously stacked beer can pyramid in the kitchen.) But some items were just bizarre, like the inflatable giraffe, what he _hoped_ was chocolate syrup smeared on his bathroom wall, a full set of false teeth, some broken glass that spelled out someone's name, a bubble machine (still running), and a pair of stuffed Mickey and Minnie Mouse dolls sitting on the coffee table "watching" a Spanish soap opera on TV.

Every second he wanted to strangle Michael more. He could do it this time, too, but Michael wasn't there. No one was, other than a single teenage boy snoring on his couch.

"Excuse me" was too polite and "Wake up, asshole!" was too rude, so Dan settled on "Hey, you!" He shook the boy's shoulder.

The boy opened his eyes. Groggily, he asked, "What time is it?"

"Almost noon. What the hell happened here?" Dan gestured to the disaster that was his living room.

"Beats me. I was fuckin' ripped."

"Do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the boy gave it some thought. "Swaim. Michael Swaim. He was the guy who sent the Tweet about the party. I came here with my friends, but they left with him to go get breakfast. That was around...six, maybe? That guy throws a kickass party! Are you his roommate?"

The boy sat up, pulling streamers from his hair. He shook his head, dislodging a cloud of glitter. His eyeliner had smudged and he resembled a raccoon.

"No. No, I'm not," Dan said, voice rising as he became more and more agitated. "This is my apartment. He doesn't even live here!"

"Chill out, man."

"You know who has to clean this all up, right?" Dan snapped. "_I_ do. So forgive me if I'm not being 'chill.'"

"Alright, alright." The boy squinted up at Dan, then grinned. "Looks like it wasn't a total drag, though. And it looks like she was rough with you, too." He chuckled.

"What are you talking about?"

"You got a hickey right here." The boy pointed to a spot on his own neck. "A big one."

Dan blinked. "You're kidding."

The boy shook his head. Dan went into the bathroom to confirm it. There really was a dark, round bruise. Why couldn't he remember how he got it? An image flashed in his head of a dour man with long hair handing him pills. He returned to the living room but the boy was gone. Dan entered the kitchen to find him by the sink, drinking orange juice from the carton.

"Was there a drug dealer here last night called 'Crazy Raoul?' I think...I think I might have taken something."

"Oh, yeah," the boy said. "That guy is fuckin' creepy."

What on Earth had possessed him to buy drugs from Raoul?

_"And this will work?" Dan asked._

_"It should do the trick," Raoul replied, and Dan popped all three pills at once, chasing them with a swig of warm Pepsi._

Now more memories began to resurface. Michael in a Care Bears t-shirt. Michael dancing with glow sticks. Michael's arm around his waist.

Michael in his bed.

Dan blushed, recalling the sensation of Michael's hands and mouth on his body, his teeth and tongue on Dan's throat. (Not to mention Mike's infuriating, self-satisfied smirk.) _No, we couldn't have!_

It had to have been a dream. Just a normal, everyday sex dream. About Michael Swaim.

"Where'd you go, man?"

"Huh?"

"You were staring off into space with this weird look on your face. Did you remember who the chick was? The one who, ya know..." The boy gestured to Dan's neck.

"Um, sort of. But it wasn't a chick—"

"Oh, my bad. Who the guy was?"

"No, we didn't—it wasn't—" Dan shook his head. "I don't really remember," he lied. "I was wasted."

The boy chuckled. "You and me both." He placed the empty juice carton in the sink. "Anyway, I better get going. My parents will be wondering where I am."

"Oh, shit. Of course." Great, now he was complicit in the corruption of a minor. Dan hustled the boy out of his kitchen and opened the front door. "It was nice to meet you."

"Catch ya later, dude. Can't wait for the next one!" The boy jogged down the hall and out of sight.

Dan shook his head. _Kids these days._ He was only twenty five, but he felt so much older. He grabbed a trash bag from under the sink and got to work throwing out empty beer cans. It was a start. He'd have to tackle the larger mess later.

Dan spilled a half-full Natty Ice on himself before remembering he was late for work. Cleaning would have to wait. As for Michael, well...That had only been a dream.

He'd keep telling himself that until he believed it.

* * *

"Hey there, sleepy-head!" Michael said as soon as Dan sat down. His partner's desk was right near his own, which made it easier to keep tabs on him, but more difficult to focus on work.

"Why the hell didn't you wake me?"

"We tried, man, but you were dead to the world. We even blasted Manowar's 'Battle Hymn' in your ear. You must have taken some powerful shit."

Dan glowered at Michael, then turned around to boot up his computer.

"Whoah," Michael said, "would you take a look at that! Who's the lucky lady?"

"What?"

Michael pointed to Dan's hickey.

"Oh, uh, no one. It's nothing." Dan popped his collar to cover it.

Michael grinned. "Was it Phoenix? I bet it was Phoenix."

"Who?"

"That girl you were dancing with all night. The ocularist? Who writes for Pink Raygun? I knew you two would hit it off!"

"It wasn't—The one with the purple pigtails? She ditched me for that DJ around midnight."

"Oh, I don't remember anything that happened between midnight and three a.m."

"That's...oddly specific."

Michael narrowed his eyes at Dan. "Do you really not remember, or do you not want to tell me?"

"Both, actually."

Michael frowned. "That hurts."

"Tough." Dan decided to change the subject. "What are you working on?"

"The 7 Most Dangerous Ways to Masturbate."

"That sounds _awful_."

"I know. It'll get loads of hits!"

* * *

Dan handed Raoul a twenty, saying, "Thanks again for this." Placing his glasses on the nightstand, he shoved everyone's coats off the bed and lay down. "Hey, I have a question. What if I want to forget...pretty much this entire night? Would these pills help with that too?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On when you take them."

"Why, what are they?"

"Rohypnol."

"Are you serious?"

Raoul smile-frowned in an unsettling way.

"That's just great," Dan said sarcastically. What he had really wanted was some Ambien, but why would that be in a shady dealer's pocket? "So when are they going to...going to..."

Dan suddenly felt lightheaded. The room was spinning and Raoul was just a blurry outline.

"Right about now."

It may have been Michael's fault, but it was Dan who roofied himself.

* * *

_**References Rundown**_  
_*Manowar is a heavy metal band often touted as "the loudest band in the world."_  
_*An "ocularist" is a person who fits, shapes, and paints artificial eyes._  
_*Pink Raygun dotcom is a real TV, movie, and fashion review website. I am not affiliated with the site in any way. I just thought it would be funny/interesting if my OC wrote for it since it has predominantly female columnists. If anyone from the site wants the line changed I will do so._

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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